Today I went for a walk for the first time since injuring my knee two and a half months ago. I went on the instructions of my physiotherapist and out of a strong craving to be mobile again.
I only got about 250 metres before I felt that first pang and knew better than to ‘push past it,’ ignoring the echoing voices of high school gym teachers from decades past. I shuffled slowly home and thanked God for being an increment better, though I was tempted to mope that I am nowhere near where I used to be.
When learning to give thanks we must start by looking for signs of life.
I have made the mistake in the early Gratefulness Experiments to suggest starting with delight and joy. They are the fruit of gratefulness, no doubt, but we must learn to till that soil. To start with joy might be a quick grab for some, but it ignores where we’re at in our soul rehab. Some of us can’t (nor should we) so easily look beyond the stabbing pain of a broken heart, the windedness of recent rejection, the towering sense of loss, the weariness of caregiving. How can we crack the door open to hope?
Now I’d say start by looking for signs of life. What induces a blip, weak though it may be, on your heart monitor. Start with an intellectual nod, even if you don’t feel it in the marrow of your bones. Mull it over. This has the potential to be a message.
For me, today, it was fresh air, a high and barely noticeable ornament in a tree, an insistent toddler stretching for an out-of-reach elevator button, and 250 metres pain-free.
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In Everything 